


Your Lucky Day

by chinesebakery



Series: In a Universe Far Far Away [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Groundhog Day AU, Light Angst, Mistletoe, On Christmas, Slow Burn, Time Loop, and other tropes, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9131440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: When Fitz and Simmons are sent to attend a scientific event in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve, tensions are running high. It's their last year at the Academy and the future of their partnership is uncertain. When they reach their destination, Fitz experiences a strange phenomenon that might help the two of them to get unstuck… eventually.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeggyLeggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeggyLeggy/gifts).



> Written for PeggyLeggy with the prompt "Seasonal Happiness" for TFSN's 2016 Fitzsimmons Secret Santa.  
> Thanks lots to AmandaRex and LetterToElise for their invaluable help.

 

"I'm telling you," Fitz muttered, his frown deepening as he glanced above his shoulder and around the wood panelled reception once more. "They're staring at me."

He hopelessly fished his cell out from his pocket again. Still no reception.

"Fitz!" Jemma hissed incisively, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. "They're dolls. They're not staring at anything. They don’t have optic nerves."

"Wouldn't be the strangest thing we've seen today," he grumbled, glaring at the row of porcelain dolls, neatly aligned under the blinking Christmas lights on the display shelf behind them. Their glassy eyes were most definitely aimed at him, and nothing she would say could convince him otherwise. "I guess there was a shortage of homicidal clown paintings when they decorated this place. Pity."

"Will you keep your voice down?" she snapped back, rubbing the sides of her neck with her gloved hands. "You've been out of sorts since we left this morning. That's a very consistent amount of complaining, even for you."

"It's not my fault, alright? I'm in _pain_ , Jemma. My fingers are about to fall off."

"You should have worn your gloves, then. They're in the front pocket of your suitcase. As I've told you. Repeatedly. I would know, because I put them there, precisely to spare you that kind of _agony_."

"How am I ever going to tinker with microchips and processors if I'm permanently maimed?" he continued, utterly oblivious to her acidic tone, as he mindlessly toyed with the customer bell.  Catching himself, he conspicuously stiffened his fingers.

They'd been standing there, their wooly hats and heavy coats dripping with melting snow, for what felt like like a solid ten minutes, and he felt simultaneously freezing and sweaty. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror behind the counter and cringed at his reddened and blotchy face. _Of course_ Jemma would look unruffled and as put together as ever, with merely an appealing rosy tint to her cheeks. "My career will be ruined before it ever began. _Ruined_ ," he continued for the sake of arguing. "And all this because of a bloody useless—"

Fitz's tirade was interrupted by Jemma's pointy elbow connecting with his fragile ribs as the innkeeper suddenly materialized behind the reception desk. She was a tall, no nonsense-looking woman, standing impossibly straight and easily towering over them by at least 15 inches. Fitz's mouth instantly closed as his hands cautiously moved away from the bell.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting," the woman announced evenly. "You must be Mr. Fitz and Ms. Simmons. We were expecting you a few hours earlier."

"Oh no, _we_ are sorry," Jemma replied in earnest, and Fitz could barely refrain from snickering. "The GPS appeared to be very… confused about the location. It kept directing us to one closed road after another. It's been—" Jemma glared at Fitz under her lashes. "—A bit of a nightmare."

"Say no more," the woman whose golden name tag read 'Mrs Sif', nodded in understanding. "That technology is very unadvanced. Here are the keys to your room. Would you like me to help you with your luggage?"

"Room?" Fitz repeated in disbelief as irritation worked its way through his system again. "As in— _singular_ , room? For the two of us?" he insisted, ignoring Jemma's placating hands covering his.

"Are you travelling with another guest?" Ms. Sif inquired, her voice and face expressionless.

Was it _karma_ ? Was he being punished? What could he possibly have done to piss the cosmos off so completely? It was bad enough he had to be here at all, in this stuffy dollhouse of an inn, and not under the covers with a controller in his hands like a _proper_ holiday. Sharing a room with Jemma was pretty much a guarantee that he wouldn't have a single minute to relax until they were back on campus.

"No, no, it's just us," Jemma confirmed with a tense smile, her eyes briefly flicking to his. "But we were hoping to each have our own room."

The innkeeper remained perfectly impassive. "It says here you booked for a double room."

Fitz fervently shook his head. "Well, clearly there was a mistake. I'm not saying it was _your_ mistake, specifically, but—"

"We are fully booked for the entire week," Ms. Sif stated, sounding utterly unimpressed. "We have been for weeks. The Science Symposium is a big draw for the town. As is our holiday decorating competition."

"Oh, _come on_ ," Fitz rolled his eyes. "This isn't exactly the AAAS Annual Meeting—"

"No." Ms. Sif's eyebrows drew together a fraction. "This is Little Falls' Science Symposium. I thought you knew that."

"No, I— nevermind," Fitz mumbled, his head falling down in defeat. "We'll be fine with the luggage, thanks. We packed light. It's only a brief stay."

#### ***

Jemma was doing her best to reign in on her unravelling temper— really, she was— but Fitz was making it so bloody difficult.

The inn may not be up to par with Fitz's standards, but Jemma found it lovely— questionable dolls aside, it was cosy, warm and, lavishly decorated for the holiday season. It was a very welcome change to the string of impersonal and nearly identical hotel rooms they'd stayed in across the states for Academy sanctioned events over the years, and she was dead set on enjoying her short stay.

It was the third year in a row she hadn’t make it home for the holidays, and although it stung a little less each time, she still felt a little fragile, her emotions too close to the surface. The Symposium was exactly the kind of distraction she was looking for. Good, clean, academic fun.

"Did you really _have_ to be so rude?" Jemma griped. "Ever since we won those invites you've had a _terrible_ attitude. I don't understand why you're so ungrateful. This is an honor to attend, and a hard-won one at that—"

"Oh please," Fitz huffed as he carried both their overnight bag up the burgundy carpeted stairs. "Have you not realized by now that they all let us win? If you think attending Little Falls bloody Symposium on Christmas Eve among _maybe_ three dozen of our least renowned peers is a _nything_ resembling an honor, you are nothing short of delusional."

"Oh, I'm _delusional_ now?" Jemma stopped abruptly, Fitz nearly colliding into her back. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, anchoring breath. "Why did you agree to come, then?" she asked, her voice tight, but steady. "Other than to punish me."

"I wouldn't let you do this alone," he said righteously, only barely refraining from clutching his chest with his hand. "Besides, Dr. Shearman   _may_ have suggested I’d get extra credit for attendance?" he shrugged, looking up at her with a slightly guilty expression. "I think you got me attached to the concept of graduating three years early."

"Oh." Jemma felt something cold run down her back. "I wasn't even aware that was on the table," she whispered in stunned outrage.

"Well." Fitz shot her a tight smile. "If you hadn't been thanking her for the opportunity before she even offered, I bet she would have."

Jemma's lips closed into a thin line of suppressed anger. She gave Fitz a curt nod of acknowledgment before resuming her ascension to the inn's top floor in stiff silence. She heard him call her name a couple of times, but didn't spare him a look back. When they finally reached their door, Fitz let their luggage fall to the floor with a loud thud while Jemma fought to turn the ancient key in the lock.

"Let me?" he said contritely, and tried to wrestle the key away from her. She shook his hand off, still intent on giving him the silent treatment. It took nearly a full embarrassing minute for the lock to give and the door to finally swing open.

The moment the lights went on, Fitz let out a loud groan, as he stared in horror at the wall facing the bed— or rather, the large, vivid painting on the wall picturing a pair of kittens chasing a wool ball.

"Well," Jemma raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, providing only minimal effort to contain her smirk. "At least they're not clowns?"

***

When Jemma emerged from the bathroom in her molecule-patterned pyjamas, her hair tied in a knot at the nape of her neck, Fitz was standing on a chair by the window, waving his arm in the air as he tried to reach the sweet spot again.

"I've got one bar," he exclaimed triumphantly as the diminutive line flickered at the corner of his phone. "It's just— nope. There it goes again. Damn it."

"I know. It's not working in the dining room either," she said, scrunching her nose. "Were you hoping to call your mum?"

"Yeah. I guess it can wait for tomorrow." Fitz gave a small shrug before he climbed down from his perch on the chair. "It's just— it always feels weird, not being there for the holidays, you know?"

"I know." Her smile was tiny but sincere, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief at her apparently improved mood. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her drop down to the bed and begin rummaging in her backpack until she extracted the notes he knew she could recite backward and forward by heart already.

"Wait, did you say the dining room?" Fitz suddenly said, only a moment before his stomach made itself known with an angry growl. "Any chance they're still serving anything edible?"

Jemma raised her head and shook it, her expression apologetic. "The kitchen closed an hour ago. I have an extra apple and a granola bar to share, if you want," she offered with forced peppiness.

"Erm, thanks." Fitz suppressed a horrified shudder. "I stocked up on chocolate bars at the rest stop. Just in case."

Jemma smirked as she set her notes down on the bedside table. "In case of… a hypoglycemic emergency?"

"Hey! You know I can't function properly when I'm starved," he said pointedly as he laid down on a row of candy bars on the small desk near the window. "My brain needs sustenance."

Fitz would swear her eyes rolled all the way inside her head. "Believe me I _know_."

They each ate their reserve rations in comfortable silence until a certain queasiness began plaguing Fitz as he considered their overnight arrangement. They'd shared a bed before, but only by complete accident— slumber sneaking up on them at the end of a long night of work or research, amidst open books and scattered notes. But doing so intentionally? It felt— weird. _Illicit_ , even.

"So, do you— I'm gonna sleep on the armchair, okay?" He nodded toward the ancient-looking seat facing the small TV screen. As armchairs went, this one looked fairly comfortable.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jemma said firmly. "If, God forbid, you woke up with the slightest hint of a wry-neck, I would never hear the end of it."

"No, really— I don't mind—"

"Ugh, Fitz," Jemma sighed, tilting her head in exasperation. "It's been a long day. A _really_ long day. I don't want to waste time with an argument we both know I'm going to win, alright? Just get your teeth brushed and come to bed."

"Yes, mom," he groaned around a mouthful of Snickers.

#### ***

Fitz was lying perfectly still. He'd been lying perfectly still for what felt like an hour, from the moment Jemma had set up the alarm and clicked the light off, but even so, he'd never felt so acutely aware of the inner workings of his body— could Jemma hear his heartbeat? Was he breathing too loudly? Was he bothering her with the incessant rise and fall of his chest? He'd been dying to scratch his nose for quite some time, but didn't dare to move.

That bed was _small_.

How it qualified as a two-adults bed was frankly dubious. He could feel the heat of her body radiating from her side of the bed, warming his arm where they almost touched. It _had_ to be terribly uncomfortable for her, and he worried even an involuntary micro-movement might feel grossly invasive. Not that he would ever _dream_ to attempt anything even remotely untowards. And even if he did— Jemma may be a small girl, but taking his own physical limitations into account, he suspected she could take him in a fight without breaking much of a sweat.

As soon as the image materialized in his brain, Fitz smothered a groan. What was he doing, thinking of engaging in sweaty fights with Jemma in ridiculously narrow beds?

"Fitz," Jemma whispered, startling him. "Are you awake?"

He hesitated for a short, cowardly moment before whispering back, "Yeah?"

She turned on her side to get a better look at him. "Is something the matter?"

"No, I'm— fine." In the darkened room, he could only make out the contours of her body, not the expression on her face. "Everything's fine. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," she said, her tone cautious. "You seem a bit tense."

"Must be the stress of the lecture," he offered half-heartedly, knowing she could see right through it.

Jemma snorted at that. "You don't get stressed out before lectures. If anything, you tend to be a little _too_ confident."

"Wouldn't want to let down such a prestigious attendance," he said with only minimal sarcasm. When she didn't reply and shifted to lie on her back again, he worried for a moment that he may have offended her— the hint of guilt balancing with the relief caused by the end of that particular conversation.

"I know you wish you were literally anywhere else," she said after a long pause, her voice even lower than before. "But I'm glad you're here with me."

For a moment there, his heart contracted in the most peculiar way, as if startled by her confession, before it expanded again and attempted to resume its normal function. "I wouldn't say _anywhere_ ," he deflected. "It all depends on the alternative. I'll take this over a double class period with Pr. Vaughn. Or a ten-hour flight home next to an insomniac toddler."

"Field training exercise on a Monday morning?"

"Ugh. That's just barbaric," he countered, with an exaggerated moan of horror. He took a deep breath and found his chest didn't feel as constricted as before. "I'm sorry I've been so cranky. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Somewhere by the middle of the bed, Jemma's pinkie touched his. Fitz almost flinched— he hadn't realized their hands were so close.

"I think I can find it in me to forgive you." Her finger  playfully tapped against his. "Goodnight, Fitz."

"Night, Jemma," he muttered, and within five minutes, felt himself succumb to sleep.

***

Fitz was startled awake by a loud, obnoxious shriek. As his brain slowly reconciled with its surroundings— the sound  registered as both unpleasant and oddly familiar.

_"Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasuuure… I don't wanna close my eyes, I don't wanna fall asleep 'cause I'd miss you, babe, and I don't wanna miss a thing!"_

Ugh. _That_ song. From _that_ movie.

As Steven Tyler's shrill vocals picked up steam, Fitz groaned and considered using his pillow to block out the sound. He abruptly realized then that something was wrong. He was pinned to the mattress— an unpleasantly squishy mattress, at that— by a warm, soft body that was half sprawled over, half wrapped around him. It took another few seconds for his brain to catch up with his body and to realize he was being held down by his best friend— her face was buried in the crook of his neck, while her hair tickled his face.

Fighting back a rising tide of mortification, Fitz began a slow, cautious retreat, hoping against all hope that he might disentangle himself from Jemma without shaking her awake.

"That movie was ridiculous."

Jemma's sleepy voice came directly against his neck, her warm breath tickling his skin and causing goosebumps to spread like wildfire. She gently removed her arm from around his waist and started patting blindly around until she managed to slap the alarm clock off.

"I know," Fitz gulped, trying his best to ignore the burn of her touch. "How could NASA ever miss an asteroid this size—"

She nodded into the crook of his neck. "—so bright, you'd only have to look up—"

"—really don't understand how gravity works either—"

"—nuclear bomb powerful enough, you'd need—"

"—hundreds of thousands of them! I _know!_ " He winced when she rolled into him a little in her effort to free her other arm.

"— _want_ radioactive asteroid debris raining onto Earth?"

"—get me started on that drilling nonsense—"

"— _barely_ scratching the surface. None of it makes any sense!" Jemma conspicuously rolled her eyes to the ceiling as she finally extracted herself from his embrace completely. "At least Deep Impact got _some_ of it right."

"True," he nodded dumbly before sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheets bunched up in his lap.

Fitz rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, his face scrunched in concentration as his brain exhausted itself searching for means to reap through the thick curtain of awkwardness that had descended between them.

"So, erm." He glanced back over his shoulder and found Jemma sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hair mussed and her cheeks pink with sleep. "Mind if I shower first?"

***

When Jemma entered the dining room, the place was bustling with joyful activity and the scent of coffee and sweet treats filled the air. Whoever had decorated the room had been very thorough— garlands, wreaths and blinking lights densely hung from wall to wall in the most aggressive display of festive spirit she'd ever seen.

After being thoroughly greeted by the overeager manager, a small and cheery man who volunteered to share how delighted he was to have the Academy's youngest and brightest duo for guests, Jemma headed for the kettle, smiling to herself when she spotted another shelf of dolls, each one sporting a tiny Santa hat.

Her spirits soared considerably once she took a good look at the breakfast buffet. Self-consciousness still clung to her like an superfluous layer of clothing, but it wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed with a liberal amount of tea and a pile warm, moist, syrupy pancakes.

"There you are!" Fitz appeared to her side just as she helped herself to a generous serving, carrying a plate of French toast and mini-pastries of his own. She could easily detect the lingering embarrassment beyond his cheerful smile, but would sooner suggest they omitted lab safety rules from that day on than point it out aloud.

"Please tell me this is your first serving," she said, eyeing his overflowing plate.

Fitz merely rolled his eyes. "I see you've found the pancakes."

"You know the lengths I would go for pancakes," she said with a tentative smirk. "Did you pick a table already?"

"This way," he said, grabbing her elbow and steering her in the opposite direction.

They hadn't made it five steps before the buoyant manager  materialized in front of them. "Not so fast, you two," he exclaimed, his smile widening further as he pointed to the ceiling with his index finger, although he kept his eyes aimed at the two of them. "Stay right where you are!"

As if in slow motion, she and Fitz both looked up to the obnoxiously large wreath of mistletoe that hung directly above them, before their gaze darted back down and to each other.

"Mmh, no thank you." Fitz's brow was remarkably furrowed. "That's a hard pass from us."

The man's smile didn't falter. "Oh, that won't do," he said affably, taking a step to the left to block any escape attempt. "We take holiday traditions seriously around here."

Fitz took a theatrical glance around. "Oh, do you now?" he snorted. But his derisive expression quickly faltered. "Look, I don't mean to be rude, M.— Koenig," he said, after glancing at his badge. "But is there any way out of this?"

"Oh, _honestly_ ," Jemma huffed. Climbing on her tiptoes, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Fitz's cheek, narrowly missing the corner of his mouth. "There," she said, with a one-shoulder shrug.

Before Fitz's startled expression could register in her mind, Koenig threw his head back and chortled.

"Geniuses. So dramatic!" he said with an indulgent smile. "I'll leave you be, then. You two have a nice day!"

***

The air was crisp and the sky luminous, with a dusting of downy flakes that melted away to nothing before they even touched the ground. Jemma kept turning her face up to feel their light and wet touch on her face— it had been years since she'd last seen snow, before she'd enrolled at the Academy.

"Fitz, look!" Jemma beamed, pointing at a nearby porch overflowing with green and red and gold. Even in the morning with all the lights turned off, it looked— _magical_ , almost. She felt a pinch of envy for the children who got to grow up there. Every house, every street lamp, every window was attired for the holiday season with meticulous care. "Everything here looks so lovely."

"Lovely?" Fitz grunted. "Looks like a Christmas snow globe on steroids, is what it is. Or like Santa's elves all got  together wasted and ended up vomiting all over this one house."

Her smile contracted into a tight line, and from that moment on, she remained silent until they reached their destination, refraining to point out anything else for fear that he would spoil it too.

To her utter dismay, Fitz's sugar-induced happy mood had been short-lived, and by the time they set off to the conference center, he was back to his grumpy self. No matter how accustomed she was to the volatility of Fitz's temper when he was frustrated, she couldn't help but resent him for those bursts of standoffishness. After all, this could very well be their last field-trip together. In just over five months, they would graduate— three years early, an unprecedented feat.

She didn't yet know what came next. Only a handful of cadets could hope to be picked for SciOps each year. They were both brilliant, sure, but scientific excellence wasn't the sole criteria for admission. If that didn't happen… Well, she hadn't devised a plan B yet. More importantly, she didn't _want_ to— and it was all because of _him_. Now matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to make plans that didn't have Fitz in them, and joining SciOps was all he deigned to consider after graduation.

If only he could give her any indication that he shared the same concern. Anytime the topic of their impending graduation came up, he expressed nothing but… impatience. She _got_ it, to en extent— she, too, felt she'd overgrown her student status, and was more that ready to round off her knowledge in a lab rather than in a classroom.

But she couldn't do without a worthy partner, and she couldn't shake the feeling that no one would ever challenge her— or infuriate her— quite the way Fitz did.

Her rumination was suddenly interrupted when Fitz grabbed her arm, guiding her a few steps back.

"We're there," he explained, before shooting her a quizzical look. "Where did you go, Simmons?" his lips stretching into a lopsided smile. "Blinded by all the seasonal loveliness?"

"Oh, you know. Into the terrifying, uncharted future," she shrugged, and noted with some satisfaction the anxious furrowing of his brow.

***

As they sat next to each other in the bristling conference room, Fitz kept throwing assessing glances in her direction, though the little exasperated huffs she kept making when she caught him staring were, for once, rather unambiguous. He'd offended her again.

Lately, he could hardly shake the impression that he was treading heavily on thin ice around her. With each one of his missteps, the cracks got a little deeper, the line of her mouth a little straighter. He was growing desperate to get back to solid ground, but he didn't know which way that was, or how to stop his foot from lodging into his mouth, time and time again.

The morning schedule was fairly heavy, with three lectures before the break, each followed by a short Q&A. He was fairly hopeful that alone would suffice to soften the rigid set of her mouth— a busy Jemma was a happy Jemma.

Unfortunately, by the time the host called for a lunch reprieve, she was all but fuming.

"I can barely believe they managed to get this nonsense funded!" She seethed, stabbing at the radishes in her plate. "When you think of all the valuable, potentially groundbreaking studies that get stalled for years—"

"I _know_ ," Fitz groaned in agreement as his eyes roamed the buffet. "And that bit about environmental alteration—"

Jemma rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Utter _rubbish_ ," she assessed bitterly.

"That study would never be reproducible, anyway," he tutted as he generously refilled his plate. "Not with a significant sample size."

"Oh, do you mean more than nineteen subjects? Or eight data points?" she asked somberly. "We should just experiment on each other and pass that off as science. Apparently, that's how you get a grant nowadays."

"Yes, well." Fitz struggled with a sudden coughing fit. It was just a well— Jemma's innocent suggestion had brought up an unwelcome and entirely inappropriate line of thinking, and he could feel his cheeks heat up as a result.

Before he could get his thought process in check again, a tall man in an expensive-looking suit and a laser-sharp gaze appeared at Jemma's side, sparking a surge of protectiveness in Fitz's gut. The smile he shot them both was nothing short of predatory.

"You're from the Academy, aren't you?" the man stated confidently, not a trace of question in his tone. "I've heard a lot about you two. Fitzsimmons— the precocious geniuses."

"Oh, I— we— thank you," Jemma stammered. Fitz could tell from the stiffening of her posture that she shared his rather chilling first impression of the man.

"I was actually looking forward to meeting you. Dr. Holloway," he held his hand up for them to shake. "I'm here representing Quinn Worldwide— perhaps you've heard of us?"

Jemma's eyes rounded instantly. Everyone knew of Quinn Worldwide— they were a major player in the field of scientific innovation, with seemingly unlimited means— but not exactly the best reputation.

"Mmh, yes," Fitz conceded with a sharp nod. "Kinda hard not to."

His acknowledgment was met with a toothy grimace. "We're always scouting for bright and promising minds. And this," he gestured around, "isn't the worst place for that. I would love to have a drink with you two this evening, see if there's anything of interest—"

"Huh, thanks, that's, huh, thanks," Fitz replied uneasily. "But we're heading back tonight, actually—"

"Tonight? In the blizzard? I would advise against it, but— you're the genius," the man smirked a lizard smile. "Here's my card. Call me if you want to discuss your plans for the future. I'm confident we could make it worth your while."

They both pocketed the card and nodded their goodbyes, before sharing an emphatic look of 'thanks, but no thanks'.

"At least it's nice to know we have options," Jemma shrugged. "Beyond SciOps, I mean." She looked at him curiously then, with that dreaded expression that meant she wanted something from him— but somehow expected to be disappointed. "Have you given it any thought?"

"What? Working for Ian bloody Quinn?" he asked dumbly, the pang in the pit of his stomach impossible to ignore. There it was, the thing they didn't talk about. But how, exactly, did one go about telling their best friend and lab partner, 'where you'll go, I'll go' without sounding either pathetic or presumptuous?

He'd been trying to figure it out for months now, but he still didn't have anything even resembling a solid course of action.

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, and the harder he tried to gauge her expectations from him, the less he could read her— as if he were looking into her eye for the first time. It was _infuriating_.

"Well, then," Jemma tapped her foot impatiently. "If you're done stuffing your face with mini sandwiches, we should go back before we can't find seats next to each other."

"I don't think anyone's trying to steal our seats, Jemma." Fitz shook his head in affronted disbelief. "And they're _pesto and mozzarella_ ," he countered, perhaps a bit whiningly, if the intensity of her eyeroll was any indication. "The one item in the 'Plus' column so far."

With one last huffed sigh, she grabbed his elbow and purposefully dragged him away from the buffet.

***

"It's just a few flakes," Fitz shouted as they fought against the wind for every inch forward with their luggage in tow. "It'll be alright."

"If you say so," Jemma hollered back petulantly. She'd barely said a word while they gathered their things, but he'd decided to let her sulk for the time being. If she _wanted_ to stay for another night, or three, he wasn't stopping her, after all.

He gritted his teeth tighter as another wet gust slapped his face and pushed him backward. It took him a few moments to locate their rental— the dark Camry was covered with a good 5 inches of snow.

The cold bit through his gloves as he shook the snow off the door handle on the passenger's side, before he walked around the car to open his own door. It slammed shut behind him with a satisfying bang that sent snow tumbling down from the roof of the car.

Fitz switched the engine on and turned the heating up to max, huffing a sigh of relief when he felt the first whiffs of dry heat hit his face. They both sat idly for a while, the silence only disturbed by the sound of the windshield wipers fighting their way through the snow, and Jemma's teeth persistently chattering.

"It will be okay," he said half-heartedly. "It's just a little—"

" _Blizzard_ ," Jemma clipped out between two clanks of her teeth. "It's just a little blizzard."

He let the back of his head hit the headrest. "We're not going back tonight, are we?"

Jemma huffed a long-suffering, slightly trembling sigh in response.

***

They waited in piteous silence as Ms. Sif checked them in for an extra night, and handed them the very keys they'd turned in earlier. The atmosphere she'd found so welcoming the previous day now felt stuffy and suffocating.

Unfortunately, no other room had freed up since their arrival. At any other time, Jemma wouldn't have minded sharing with Fitz, but for the time being, she felt irrationally angry with him, and wouldn't have minded some time alone to clear her thoughts.

The moment they were in their room, Jemma dropped her suitcase to the floor and dug out her pajamas. Without a word, she walked to the bathroom, closed the door and turned the lock. She went through her routine on auto-pilot as her thoughts circled back to his insistence to leave. She couldn't shake the feeling that he was desperate to leave _her_. Perhaps it was the Quinn goon's fault, for bringing up the dreaded topic that never quite left the corner of her mind, like a splinter trapped just under the surface. Or maybe the holiday atmosphere, along with the events of the day, had left her feeling lonely and drained.

When she exited the bathroom, Fitz was sitting at the edge of the bed in his pajamas, his head hanging low. He looked up when he heard the door open, but she wouldn't meet his eye.

"Look, Jemma," he said, a touch pleadingly. "I'm sorry if I—"

"Let's just go to sleep, alright?" she said, not bothering to conceal how wary she felt. "I'm knackered."

"Okay," he replied, defeated. "Whatever you want."

Their eyes met for only a moment before she turned her back to him. She folded her clothes then went to lie down on her side, facing away from him and so close to the edge of the bed she could feel the void next to her.

Even with so much space between them, she could feel how tense he was, how stiffly his body rested on the mattress, and she felt a touch of remorse. It felt wrong to leave things this way between them for an entire night. They never fought— not like this. Not in a way that hurt.

It was unbearable. She couldn't bear it a moment longer. "I'm not angry, "she said, as a peace offering. "I really _am_ tired."

"And I really _am_ sorry," he replied softly, and even though his voice felt like it came from far away, she felt instantly warmer after hearing the sound. Still, it was a long time before her brain finally turned off.

***

_"I could spend my life in this sweet surrender, and just stay here lost in this moment foreeever..."_

The moment Fitz was pulled awake by the radio alarm clock blasting out Aerosmith's greatest hit from hell, and found Jemma's soft body blanketing him with her warmth, the first thing he felt was a striking contentment. He could feel her chest swell against him with each breath in a comforting rhythm, while a strand of her hair tickled his nose in a way that wasn't entirely displeasing. For a few moments, he considered letting himself be lulled back to sleep.

It wasn't until the vocals rose higher and sharper that his unearned sense of well-being morphed into a chilling impression of déjà vu, as a sense of unease began seeping through the cloud of complacency.

It couldn't keep happening. Best friends didn't routinely wake up all tangled and cuddly, however pleasant that might feel in the moment. That was how perfectly good partnerships got unnecessarily mucked up. Wasn't it?

How had things come so off balance between them?

"Jemma," he murmured, his fingers grazing the back of her hand. "Could you please— move? Just a little?"

"Mmh." She stirred against him, her face burrowing further into the crook of his neck while her hand began patting around for the snooze button.

"Jemma—" he said cautiously, as the familiar flowery scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils.

It wasn't until she rolled onto her back that she finally could reach the nightstand and turn the blaring sound off. "That movie was ridiculous," she stated sleepily.

"Yeah," he concurred as he sat on the edge of the bed, and his chuckle sounded a touch awkward to his own ears. "I think we've settled that issue already."

"Have we?" Jemma narrowed her sleepy eyes, wrinkling her nose. "Did we ever watch it together?"

"What? No!" he frowned, craning his neck to study her face and determine whether she was unfairly teasing him. It was an unspoken rule between them that she was not to poke fun at him when he was starved from fasting for an entire night. Fitz got to his feet and began pacing as he fought a growing annoyance. "It was— we just— yesterday!" he gestured widely in a motion encompassing the two of them and the bed they'd shared, and cursed himself when he felt his cheeks heat up at the thought.

"What about yesterday?" she asked, looking genuinely confused.

"It's— You know what? Nevermind." He let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed as his eyes. "Let's have breakfast and get on our way, alright? The roads must be cleared from snow by now."

It was her turn to get up and look crossed. "What are you talking about? There were barely a flake in sight last night. And the lectures won't start before 9:30."

"Haha. You're hilarious this morning," he deadpanned, as he walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside, expecting to find little mounds of snow stretching along the sides of the roads.

Except— there wasn't. From their room on the top floor of the inn, they had a stunning view of the entire town, which appeared to have been dusted with a thin sprinkling of white. It didn't make sense. There was _no way_ it could all have melted overnight. Unless… Unless it hadn't happened. What if it had been a dream? An irritating, unimaginative and terminally dull dream?

"Jemma," he said slowly, planting his fists on his hips, and huffed a deep, calming breath. "What day is it today?"

She was staring at him oddly now, and looked mildly upset. "December 24th. The day of the Symposium. Honestly Fitz," she shook her head and walked to him, raising her hand to his forehead as if he was a child taking ill. "What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," Fitz shrugged in a valiant effort to shove his unease aside. "It's probably nothing."

 


End file.
